


the twist of fate (when it all broke down)

by charleybradburies



Series: Incorrect Jonsa Week (2019) [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Assumptions, Confessions, Confrontations, Cousin Incest, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, First Kiss, Identity Issues, Identity Reveal, Idiots in Love, Jon Snow Knows Nothing, Love Confessions, Miscommunication, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Oops, Parallels, Pining, Promises, R Plus L Equals J, Season/Series 08, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Tension, Winter, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 00:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18435143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: Incorrect JonSansa Week 2019: Day Two (April 8).one trope to rule them all.(Incest is Relative,Oblivious to Love, Cannot Spit It Out,First Kiss, + More)After his parentage is revealed, Jon avoids Sansa.[title from "the story of us" by taylor swift]





	the twist of fate (when it all broke down)

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy, comment, and kudos!

It was the ultimate betrayal, Sansa thinks, that Jon would choose Targaryen in the end.

She tries to tell herself it isn’t the end yet, but she knows what she said, what he said. She hasn’t even spoken to him since - he’s been so busy preparing, and is avoiding her, besides. He doesn’t avoid Arya, though there’s an awkwardness they did not have before. Back when they were children, back when they were actually happy. 

Sansa had thought he’d been happy to see her when they’d reunited, but in truth, he’d been happy to have a part of their family back with him, despite it being her. She almost thinks her grief when it comes to the matter is silly - there was so much more to worry about, after all - but for that short time when it was only the two of them, they had loved each other, and now…now, it’s all ruined. 

She seldom catches him smiling, but reasons that he must be somewhat happy, even if she was not, even as he was at war. He had Winterfell, and Arya and Bran, and Sam and Davos, and Daenerys - and he knew the truth of his birth, a matter that had haunted him all his life. 

_“You are still my brother. You will always be my brother,”_ she had said, and had hoped it would comfort him. 

_“What if I don’t want to be your brother?”_ Jon had replied, the word “brother” shoved out of his mouth like a curse, his face still covered in what she’d believed was the grief of loss. She herself had been, and surely had appeared, devastated. 

He’d muttered an apology and run out of the crypts like he could have nothing more to say to her, leaving her to look between the statues whose spirits could not help her.

Arya had found him in the godswood later, and returned with him, hand in hand. Sansa could not help her jealousy, that Arya would be the one to know what was right to say, that _she_ would continue to receive Jon’s affection after the truth had come out. 

It was foolish to desire something, _anything_ from him, if he had only been so good to her because of their relation, but still some part of her held out. It was true that she had not always wanted closeness with Jon that was appropriate for siblings, but with every passing hour she’d give even more for just another hug. A smile, at least. Perhaps she’ll get one when he leaves. She certainly hopes so, seeing as he no longer speaks about the war as though he believes he’ll survive it. Oh, for how sweet she’d thought it’d be to see him when she’d been hidden away in the Vale, his touch would be so much sweeter now, but he’d left her for the South and come back a Targaryen. 

She wakes early, on the morning they’ve planned to leave, in part because there’s much to do and in part because she needs to draw strength to do it. It is, of course, this morning that she finds Jon in the crypts again, looking up at his mother's statue. 

“Good morning,” she offers nervously.

“Is it?” he replies, his voice sad, but instead of simply hurting it breaks her resolve.

“ _Is it?_ ” she repeats. “That’s - you never speak to me anymore. You barely even _look_ at me! And _that’s_ what you have to say?”

“I - these days I can think of nothing but the wrong things to say.”

“So, you say nothing.”

He almost chuckles, perhaps at her exasperation, but indeed, says nothing, though he purses his lips like he considers it. She wants them against...against her forehead, against her hand, she imagines, but those aren’t the places that come to mind as she forces herself to stand taller. He seems to realize she’s about to ask something, but doesn’t intend to give her the moment, and steps closer, heading for the steps up to the yard. 

“So I say nothing,” he says, and moves to continue, but she grabs onto his cloak - the one _she_ made, to be like Father’s, clearly in vain - and stops him. He doesn’t look at her.

“Last time we were here...what did you mean?”

He presses his eyes shut, perhaps wishing he was already gone back North, wishing he were anywhere but here. But he does not leave, so she lets him consider it. _Did he even recall?_ It had been only a fortnight before, but so much had happened in the interim.

“It was...the wrong thing to say.”

He doesn’t appear to be looking for more to say, but what he has said tells her nothing more than she knows.

“You haven’t taken the name.”

“It’s not my name to take,” he replies, far more quickly than any response of his she can remember, and she furrows her brow. _What, then, did he intend?_

“Why, then?” she asks, her voice a whimper as tears come to the forefront of her expression. “Why do you want nothing more to do with me?”

He reaches out, instinctively, to wipe a fallen tear from her cheek, and she catches his hand, holding it against her skin. She flashes back to their first conversation of this winter, and by the way he looks over her face, so very reminiscent of that moment, when he - _he_ \- she…

The moment it occurs to her, she leans in to kiss him. Fear mounts in the drawn-out seconds it takes him to respond, but he does - and in kind. The hand against her face snakes to her neck, the other arm inside her cloak and around her waist, and she throws her arms around him, dancing the fingers of one hand into his hair and holding him close, closer, as close as possible. 

The sound of someone on the stairs pulls her mouth away from his, though they remain intertwined, even more so when she realizes that it’s Ghost - who had been so divided between them since Bran had told them of Jon’s parentage. Ghost, who looks up at them now like he’s been waiting for them to be close to each other again. 

Shallow, uncertain breaths fill the crypts. She meets Jon’s eyes again and tries to speak.

“I - I didn’t think you-”

“Nor did I,” he answers, and gives her the gift of a smile, one she feels when they kiss again, though this time she could not say who first reaches for the other. 

“Please, come back to me,” she eventually whispers, their mouths still so close that she feels both their breaths against her lips.

“I will,” he promises, and she lets herself believe that he will keep it.


End file.
